Mr Collins was dead
by LettyBIRD
Summary: Life after marriage to that man... A Charlotte and Colonel Fitzwilliam Romance.
1. The Prologue

This is my first ever fan-fic, beautifully and kindly beta'd by Keladry Lupin and Little Beloved – Pulsars in the SSHG firmament, all errors are wholly and entirely mine, anything you recognize belongs to Miss Austen.

The Prologue.

If his liturgical career had never really shone brightly, there were those who knew him who might have fancied that his true talents lay in unabashed and practiced sycophancy. It was perhaps most fitting that his death came as a result of an act of unparalleled obsequiousness. On a bitter January morning in 1809 Mr Collins; with no thought for his own health, nor the position of his wife Charlotte were he to drown, jumped feet first into the ornamental lake at Rosings Park in pursuit of Miss Anne De Burgh's pince-nez which had not a moment before been carried away from her by a gust of wind. He emerged from the icy water after a minute or so, clutching the broken remains of the glasses, it appeared he had been unfortunate enough to land upon them when entering the water.

Charlotte had been extremely startled to greet her sodden husband on the doorstep some 45 minutes later. Although she did her utmost to warm him and tend to him, it was too late to prevent the fever which eventually carried him off from taking hold - if only he hadn't insisted on walking Miss De Burgh back to her mother, something might have been done. However it was not to be.

Mr Collins was dead.

His death left Charlotte in a very awkward position; Lady Catherine would soon be wanting the rectory to house the new parson and his family. Charlotte had nowhere to live - in the seven years since she had married, she had lost both beloved parents; her sister Maria (who had married an officer and was living in Spain) and Lucas Lodge, which was now in the possession of her brother Robert, his wife and their ever expanding brood, she could not possibly encumber him with the responsibility of supporting her too. Had she just had herself to think of, she might have considered becoming a governess or lady's companion, but she had her son William and daughter Anne to think of. Anne was not yet five and William just turned three; she loved them both so dearly and could not bear the thought of being parted from them for a night, much less year in year out.

Thank goodness for Lizzy.

Elizabeth and Mr Darcy's marriage was a happy one. Of course there were squabbles and misunderstandings on occasion, but on the whole it was very successful. Since the birth of their first child - a daughter named Emily for Elizabeth's aunt Gardner, who had been so instrumental in bringing them together- Lizzy had withdrawn from the life of balls and routs that had peppered her entry into high society. She now preferred the quiet existence that she had carved out for herself and Mr. Darcy at Pemberly, where they were surrounded by good, devoted friends and loyal servants. Darcy himself cared little for town life now and was rarely drawn to London unless it was to vote in the House or to see his man of business.

The estrangement between Mr Darcy and his aunt at the time of their marriage had been resolved for some years now, and it was in fact her letter that informed them first of Mr Collins' untimely demise. Lady Catherine had never been a woman prone to sympathy, although she demanded it from others - and much of her letter was taken up with complaints about the exertions she had been put to in her search for a new parson and how utterly like Mr Collins it was to catch cold and die just when The Season was beginning – the loss of Mr Darcy as a prospective son-in-law had drawn her from Huntsford to London in pursuit of a likely replacement.

Upon reading Lady Catherine's letter, Lizzy immediately perceived that dear Charlotte would very soon be in want of a home and in no time at all persuaded her husband that bringing Charlotte to Pemberley would be most advantageous. Whilst Mr Collins lived, Mr Darcy had often found it necessary to visit London on matters of urgent business during the Collins' visits to Pemberley, but he had not forgotten the quiet sensible woman whom he had met in Meryton some eight years ago. He knew from long conversations with Elizabeth that in all essentials, Mrs Collins was unchanged and as such her arrival held no dread for him.

A letter expressing all that was proper on the occasion of Mr Collins' death was dispatched to Huntsford, and in the course of three more letters, Charlotte was invited and then persuaded to come to Pemberly indefinitely.

In the event, the matter of transporting Charlotte and her two children to Pemberley proved more difficult than had been originally thought. Lady Catherine insisted that Charlotte stay until August, so that she might ensure that the parsonage was in order for its new residents; Lady Catherine would be in London and unable to oversee their installation. The problem lay in the fact that August was the final month of Lizzy's, confinement and Darcy was extremely unwilling to be parted from her at this time. After much debate and pondering, it was Colonel Fitzwilliam who solved the matter by kindly volunteering to go down to Rosings Park and escort Mrs Collins back to Pemberley.


	2. Chapter 1

This is my first ever fan-fic, beautifully and kindly beta'd by Keladry Lupin and Little Beloved – Pulsars in the SSHG firmament, all errors are wholly and entirely mine, anything you recognize belongs to Miss Austen.

Chapter 1

It had been Lizzy's idea to send Colonel Fitzwilliam with the best carriage to fetch Charlotte. She wanted Charlotte to realise from the outset that she was being invited as an honoured guest and treasured friend, not some sort of poor relation who was coming to them as an indentured slave who would take what she was given and be grateful for it.

The Colonel was not the sort of man happy to ride two hundred miles in a carriage, dozing, drinking or contemplating the view. He liked the fresh air and exercise his horse afforded him. With this in mind he ordered the carriage to go on ahead of him by two days, so that they might arrive in Huntsford at about the same time.

Setting out from Derbyshire, Colonel Fitzwilliam contemplated the task ahead of him. He was ashamed to say that he had very little recollection of Mrs Collins: his visits to Rosings Park had always been endured rather than enjoyed, and between the improving lectures of his aunt and the repulsive attentions of Mr Collins, Mrs Collins had been lost in the melee. He could only hope that as Mrs Darcy's particular friend she might prove to be at least tolerable, and if she wasn't, what were a few days sacrificed for his friendship with his cousin? Darcy would do this and more for him.

Mrs Collins had spent the morning overseeing the removal and loading of her trunks onto the cart that would carry her possessions into Derbyshire. Despite having been married to a well favoured cleric, she had surprisingly few possessions, and these had been diminished even further in recent weeks as she had made gifts of certain items to friends dotted about the village. Whilst Mr Collin's sermons had been universally dreaded, his wife's kind words and sensible advice had won much admiration amongst the people of Huntsford, and they would miss her sorely when she was gone.

The rituals of mourning a husband prevented Mrs Collins from going much into society. Indeed, her gifts had been delivered by her maid Caroline as it was thought unseemly for a widow to go visiting so soon after her husband's death. These restrictions upon herself were bad enough, but it was her children who were always to be quiet and reserved though they hardly understood why, that she pitied. On this August day the weather was particularly fine, and both William and Anne were suffering in the oppressive heat of the day. They each tugged at the collars of their black clothing, hoping in someway to entice a cooling breeze to slip beneath. Charlotte regarded them piteously and dredged her mind for some way to give them some relief. At last she hit upon an idea. The rectory edged Rosings Park, and Charlotte knew that just a little way from the imposing gates of the park lay a small copse that Lady Catherine had been proposing for some time to do away with in favour of a folly. But at present the trees remained untouched and would provide both welcome shade from the heat, and concealment from prying eyes – here the children could run wild and laugh and scream without fear of censor.

Charlotte raided the kitchen for supplies, laughing at herself for feeling almost like the twelve-year-old girl she had once been, scrumping for Apples with Lizzy or stealing peas from her father's tenant's fields. The children were so utterly delighted to be leaving the house, and with their mother no less, that they proved surprisingly easy to marshal. Once in the woods, Charlotte loosened their clothes and removed her bonnet and boots. She sat on a rug and smiled indulgently as the children ran about her examining rocks and stumps of wood for juicy caterpillars that they would present to her like the treasures of the ancients. She received them with all due gravity, and when she had amassed what could be described as a trove of caterpillars, she decided it was time for them all to have some bread and cheese. William and Anne ate heartily, both keeping up a non-stop monologue on the various sights they had seen so far that afternoon. After lunch, all three Collins' rested a while in the balmy shade of those tall Beeches. Waking from an hour's sleep, the children were even more excitable, and their mood even transferred itself to Charlotte who found herself removing her stockings and chasing them barefoot about the wood with gay abandon.

It was at about this time that Colonel Fitzwilliam rounded the hill above Rosings Park and began to make his way to the gate. His aunt had insisted he stay at the park, even though she was in town. As his horse Scheherazade slowly wended her way across the field, Colonel Fitzwilliam heard a shriek of laughter from nearby. It appeared to be coming from the Beech wood, and the Colonel knew that his aunt would never forgive him if he didn't see off the intruders. Dismounting at the edge of the wood and looping Scheherazade's bridle over a nearby post, he walked stealthily into the copse. At first he saw nothing, and all was silent but for the birdsong, when suddenly from the right streaked a small girl perhaps five or six years old, barefoot and whooping with laughter. Half a second behind her came a woman in a most dishevelled state: she too was barefoot and laughing uproariously - her black dress covered in dust, the collar buttons undone, her bonnet nowhere to be seen and her hair more or less completely escaped from it's pins. She had almost passed him; he thought, perhaps, that she must not have seen him, but she came to an abrupt stop, turned and gasped, her small hands flying up to her mouth a second later.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam…" She could say no more, her eyes wide with shock and fear.

The woman had the advantage of him: she knew his name and he was unsure of hers, though quick calculation suggested that this wild woman might, in fact, be the widow on whom he had planned to call later this afternoon.

"Mrs Collins?" he asked in uncertain terms.

She curtseyed, and by this stage the little girl had return to see what was keeping her mother from giving chase.

"Mama, why did you … ooh, Soldier! Hullo, Soldier."

The Colonel smiled down at her and said, "Hullo, little girl."

Charlotte could see that her daughter was about to launch into one of her prolonged interrogations, and so said, "Anne, why don't you go find your brother? Don't you think he would like to meet Colonel Fitzwilliam, too?" Anne dashed off shouting for William to come out from wherever he was hiding, leaving Charlotte and the Colonel alone once more.

Charlotte immediately began to tidy herself, buttoning up her collar, tucking up her hair as best she could and trying surreptitiously to brush the dust from her dress. This gave the Colonel time to study her - she was perhaps 35 years old, by no means a beautiful woman. Her figure was of the ordinary sort, though she was perhaps a little taller than the average woman, and a life of walking everywhere meant that she was of a browner complexion than was fashionable, though her recent exertions had brought a pleasing colour to her cheeks. All in all, nothing special, but just for a moment the Colonel recalled her face minutes before, radiating delight, and felt that perhaps there was something beyond the ordinary about this woman.

William's arrival marked the end of Colonel Fitzwilliam's opportunity to scrutinize Mrs Collins. William whooped with delight when he saw the Colonel, running to within feet of where he stood and then pausing to survey the spectacle before him. Of all the toys in William's possession, his favourite by far was the wooden toy soldier his uncle Lucas had presented him with the previous summer. He took it almost everywhere with him, and now he held it out before him, partly in comparison with the real life soldier who stood in the dappled glade and part as religious offering.

"Hullo there, young man," said the Colonel. "What's that you've got there? A soldier, is it?"

William found that presented with a real life soldier he was suddenly shy. Charlotte watched his gaze drop to the Colonel's gleaming boots, and she felt the need to give him support. Taking his hand as she dropped down into a kneeling position, she said, "William, this is Colonel Fitzwilliam. He has come to escort us to our new home. He'll think you terribly rude if you don't shake his hand."

The Colonel smiled at the woman kneeling in the grass and lent down, extending his hand to William. The idea of a soldier escort was one that obviously impressed William, because he stuck out his hand to shake the Colonel's and said,

"Like King George."

Both Charlotte and the Colonel smiled at this, though neither could quite see the connection.

William once again resumed looking between the Colonel and his battered toy, and thankfully for the Colonel he seemed very pleased with what he saw.

Charlotte watched the two of them for a moment and then said, "I think it is time that I got the children back to the vicarage. The next few days are going to be very tiring for them."

Not waiting for a reply, she stood up and made her way over to the tree under which lay her bonnet and the picnic things. The Colonel followed her with Anne and William trailing in his wake. He folded the picnic blanket and helped Charlotte gather up various items, but did not hand them back to her, making it clear that he would carry them back to the vicarage for her. Lastly, Charlotte pulled on her bonnet and regarded the children to see what straightening and neatening might be required before taking to the lane by the vicarage. A few buttons and ties saw them restored to as close to presentable as they were ever going to get on that lamentably hot afternoon.

It was a quiet little party that traipsed out of the shady wood and into the lane that August afternoon. Anne held her mother's hand tightly and peeped at the Colonel from behind Charlotte's skirts. Her brother ran on ahead, occasionally bringing back offerings for his new hero. The Colonel accepted them all reverently, but by the end of the walk his hands were pretty full, and he could have sworn that he heard the briefest burst of laughter from Mrs Collins as he attempted to juggle all that his arms contained.

Even the most gentlemanly of men could not open a gate for a lady with his arms full, and so it was that he charged "young Captain Collins" with his first mission of their acquaintance. William's small hands in conjunction with a garden gate that was at least 6 inches taller than him meant that this was no easy task. Desperate to impress the Colonel, he would accept no help from his mother or Anne, but after several minutes of huffing and puffing he managed to wrestle the gate open and was loudly praised by Anne, his mother and the Colonel.

The Colonel had explained to Mrs Collin's during their walk to the house that his horse was still tied up in the copse, and that he would have to see her fed and watered before he could think of doing anything else. He parted from the family at the kitchen door, saluting 'Captain Collins' as he went and taking his treasure with him.

The walk back up the lane gave him some peaceful moments to contemplate the little family whom he would be keeping company with for the next three or four days. Nothing in Mrs Collin's manners gave him cause for concern: she seemed a deeply sensible woman, and her children were quiet and well behaved. It would be no chore at all to see them safely into Derbyshire.

While Colonel Fitzwilliam was riding Scheherazade down the drive towards the big house, Mrs Collins was trying to recover from the shock of his having seen her in such a state; her hair all wild, her dress dusty and worst of all, propriety thrown to the wind as she leapt and cavorted in his aunt's woods. What must he think of her? The next four days where going to be interminable, but she would endure for the children's sake. She only hoped he was not so disgusted as to give Lady Catherine a full report of her behaviour.


	3. Chapter 2

Thanks to my beta littlebeloved for her stirling work. Everything you recognise is Janes.

Chapter 2

Colonel Fitzwilliam sat in the breakfast parlour at Rosings, enjoying both breakfast and his view of the Park, overlaid with a blue grey mist that would soon burn off with the sun's ascent. His morning reverie was broken, however, by a message from Darcy's groom, Philip, that the carriage had been made ready and would be sent on to the vicarage at half past eight. Being a military man, the Colonel was more than familiar with the early morning and it was no hardship for him to rise at dawn. He wondered if there was anything in the world that would induce his older brother Edward to rise before eleven and came laughingly to the conclusion that such a thing had yet to be discovered, and that when it was, he would pay a pretty price to see it.

A mere thirty-six hours re-acquaintance with Mrs Collins had been enough to tell Colonel Fitzwilliam that both she and the children would be ready and waiting for the carriage as soon as it appeared, so he hastily finished his breakfast and sent word to the Stables to have Scheherazade saddled and ready for him as soon as possible.

Riding up through the park towards the vicarage, the Colonel was pleased to note what a beautiful day it appeared to be. There had been a light rain overnight, nothing that would bog down the carriage: it simply meant that the roads would not be so dusty.

A flurry of activity surrounded the vicarage as he approached it from the lane. The carriage appeared to have been ladened with several valises, and the children were inspecting the horses with great delight. It was not these facts that intrigued him, but the great crowd of people gathered in the garden talking and exclaiming animatedly. At first the Colonel thought, perhaps, that something was wrong and that the journey might have to be postponed. But on dismounting, he discovered that this great host of people had come to wave farewell to Mrs. Collins and her children. Amongst the crowd were those who represented every strata of Hunsford society, from the gentleman physician, Dr Bowyer, to farm labourers. This sight could not help but renew the Colonel's respect for Mrs. Collins.

Charlotte spied the Colonel's approach from the lane and hastened her leave taking. She had been touched beyond measure to see so many neighbours and friends flouting convention and coming to pay call and wish her well, that she had quite lost track of time. Thank goodness Mr. Darcy's groom had taken charge of the arranging of their possessions on the carriage, or it would have taken at least another half an hour before they could set off.

She shook hands with all her friends, comforted the tearful, kissed the children and blushingly accepted a framed watercolour of William and Anne that had been commissioned by the village as a parting gift. At last it was time to leave her home of the last seven and a half years. The children had been swept up into the carriage by Colonel Fitzwilliam and were preoccupied with the small gifts presented to them by various friends in the crowd. Charlotte took one last look at the house and then turned to say a general goodbye and thank you, before allowing Colonel Fitzwilliam to hand her into the carriage.

The elegant carriage swept away from the rectory, waved off by the crowd and going with the blessing and well wishes of all. The Colonel followed on and after a few minutes was riding alongside the vehicle. This utterly delighted William, who waved enthusiastically to the "Curholl", as he had taken to calling him. Knowing that Mrs. Collins would get no peace from William whilst ever he was in sight, the Colonel told her that he would ride on ahead and see them at the inn where they would take lunch.

Mrs. Collins and the children passed an easy morning looking out the window of the carriage, pointing out to each other all the interesting sights they could see and singing nursery rhymes. At almost exactly twelve o'clock, the carriage pulled into the yard of the Grey Hound Inn, where Colonel Fitzwilliam had ordered them a good lunch. The children ate ravenously and caused Colonel Fitzwilliam to teasingly ask if their mother had been starving them. The children giggled, but Charlotte, still mortified by the thought of how he had discovered her not two days earlier, blushed and turned hastily away to study their fellow diners. Charlotte was a brave woman, and it had taken all her reserves to meet the Colonel's eyes when they had met the previous day. One night's rest had not been enough to restore them.

The Colonel mistook Mrs. Collin's discomfort for exhaustion. He knew what his aunt would have expected of her, and good woman that she was, she would have done it all uncomplainingly. He sought some small means of giving her relief and, knowing that the children would become fractious without some exertion to wear them down, the Colonel suggested that he took them for a walk whilst Mrs. Collins rested. The offer was graciously accepted, and the last Charlotte saw of her children for the next hour was Anne and William vying to be the one to tell the Colonel about all the different animals that they had seen from the carriage.

In the seven months since her husband's death, Charlotte had hardly had a moment to contemplate the future. She had been far too busy following Lady Catherine's exhaustive instructions on how the Rectory was to be refurbished for the next Parson and his family, as well as tending to her own little family. Now, as she sat in this light and airy parlour surrounded by strangers, she wondered what the future could hold and how she would support herself and the children. She could not possibly trespass on Mr. Darcy's kindness for long. She hoped that Lizzie would have some ideas, because for the moment, she found herself completely at a loss.

Colonel Fitzwilliam returning from the walk had left the children in Philip's care and went into the inn to settle the account and retrieve Mrs. Collins. Entering the parlour, he saw her by the window, an open periodical held loosely in her lap, a distant look on her face, and, for reasons unknown to himself, he smiled. There was such an air of serenity about the woman. The Colonel was not one for society: he generally preferred the company of his fellow officers, but when he was in society he seemed always to be encountering strident women. His own sisters were no exception to this rule - there was always some fuss of their own making surrounding them. Mrs. Collins was different: so quite, so calm and yet so obviously capable. Colonel Fitzwilliam paused for just a moment and then strode purposefully across to her, giving her a polite bow and informing her that the carriage was ready for her.

In the heat of the day, their full bellies and the gentle rocking motion of the carriage soon sent Anna and William to sleep, leaving Charlotte to enjoy the undulating countryside beyond the carriage window. She occasionally glimpsed Colonel Fitzwilliam in the distance and her thoughts naturally turned to him. He was a plain, open man with good manners and an engaging smile They had met on half a dozen occasions in the last seven years, but it was obvious to Charlotte that she had made little impression on him. And why would she, when she had always until this week been in the company of her friend Lizzy? It had been evident to her all those years ago before Lizzy's marriage that the Colonel had had a fondness for her, but that circumstance and situation had prevented him from ever declaring himself. Charlotte paused for a moment to consider a life in which Lizzy had married Colonel Fitzwilliam. They would have undoubtedly rubbed along very well together, but Charlotte's kind heart hated to deprive Mr. Darcy of his grand passion even for two minutes, and so restored Lizzy to her rightful place at his side.

Charlotte wondered if Colonel Fitzwilliam had found someone else to replace Lizzy in his affections, but knowing so little about him, she was unable to come to any satisfactory conclusion. All she felt she knew was that a man of such good character ought to marry, and she hoped that his friends and family were doing their utmost to find a woman worthy of him.

Some two hours of contemplation were finally brought to an end by Anne's waking up and insisting on their playing a somewhat restricted game of Grand Mufti. In turn Anne's laughter woke her brother, who enthusiastically joined in their game, and the three of them passed the remainder of the day's journey playing games and reading from a book entitled "Fabulous Histories" that had been given to Anne by Dr Bowyer as a parting gift that morning. The book was the tale of two families: a human family and a nest of Robins. It was an instant hit with Anne, who loved nature above all things, and even William sat quietly and listened to the adventures of the children and their bird friends.

Mrs Collins and the Colonel had agreed that they should break their journey at Basingstoke, a town where they felt sure they might easily secure rooms for the night in a local inn. Charlotte soon found that they were mistaken, when their carriage finally arrived at the Bounty Inn. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had arrived an hour earlier, upon making enquiries had made the unlucky discovery that due to the activities of a local cattle market, the town was a little fuller than usual and rooms were few and far between. There then followed a frantic hour, during which he scoured the town for rooms, but try as he might he could not find two rooms together. For his own sake he cared little where he slept, but he could not imagine that Mrs Collins would be happy about Anne and William being put up for the night in a separate address to her own. He tried to encourage Mrs Collins to press on to Reading after taking supper. It was, perhaps, another two hours, but the town was far larger and the Inn keeper at the Bounty Inn assured him that there would be rooms aplenty. But Charlotte would hear none of it: she knew how tired the Colonel must be after seven hours in the saddle, and it was no hardship to her to share a room with her two children, so the Colonel engaged the remaining room at the Bounty Inn for Mrs Collins and sent Philip off to secure his own at the Royal Oak.

Supper was a jolly affair: the Colonel had at least been successful in engaging a private parlour where he engaged the children in conversation about their lives, and Mrs Collins watched their delighted faces as they answered him with great earnestness. The Colonel amused her children as their father never had, and for the briefest moment Charlotte was saddened for their sakes that this stranger had given them more pleasure than their father ever had or ever would.

After dinner and some sweetly fond goodnight's from each party, Mrs Collins had swept the children up to her room, where the Inn keeper had arranged a cot for William to sleep on, whilst Anne would sleep in her own bed. Much to Charlotte's delight, the children were surprisingly easy to put to bed. They were so tired after the days excitement that they put up only a token resistance, before each falling soundly asleep. Charlotte returned to the parlour with a book of poetry that Elizabeth had sent her the previous month, expecting Colonel Fitzwilliam to have left for the evening, but instead she found him swirling a glass of golden liquid and staring into the unlit fire place. She had come into the parlour too quickly to withdraw unnoticed, and the Colonel immediately stood up to bow as she entered.

"Oh … Oh I, I thought you had gone, sir" she stammered and immediately felt the rudeness of the statement.

"I had intended to go, but this brandy made me thoughtful – always a dangerous thing. As I'm afraid you see, I quite forgot the time, but I shall rectify that immediately," the Colonel said with a little humour in his voice. With that, he made for the door.

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed, holding her hands out imploringly. "Please forgive me, I did not mean that I wished you gone, I… I…" She could not find a suitable end to the sentence and from the depths of nowhere she changed the subject, saying, much to her own surprise, "Of what did the brandy make you think?"

The Colonel, who had already stopped walking across the room, grinned and said quietly, "Spain."

For a moment, Charlotte was lost, but then she recalled, "You are lately returned from there, are you not? You were under General Graham's command. Am I right?"

The Colonel was genuinely surprised to hear such words coming from Mrs Collins: in his experience women took little or no interest in the war, and they certainly could not name his commanding officer.

"Aye, indeed I was, ma'am," he said, looking at her intently.

"Do you miss it?"

"The war? No, but the fellowship of my brother officers, that I do miss sorely. I am…" he paused for a second, staring into the fireplace and then went on, "I am not a man cut out for society: give me fresh air and a task to fulfil and I am a happy man. None of this idling about the place and putting on airs I wasn't born with…" The Colonel was just getting into his stride when he pulled himself up short. Looking back at Mrs Collins, he saw her smiling warmly at him. She seemed amused by the passion with which he decried modern society, but he knew at once that her amusement sprung not from contempt, but from fellow feeling.

Still smiling, Mrs Collins said, "Would you tell me about Spain? I have not travelled much beyond one hundred miles from the exact spot on which I was born, and I would so love to hear about your travels."

So began an evening of quiet pleasure for both the Colonel and Mrs Collins. He relived the happiest and most exhilarating days of his life, and she got to see Spain through his entirely partial eyes: she stood beside him at the siege of Cadiz as he fought the French alongside Major Duncan, she dined at the officers table after the victory, toasting General Graham, and she walked with him through the streets of Cadiz one fine morning when he found Sherezade being schooled by a young man of no more than five and ten years.

Time seemed to get away from them, and it was only when they heard the church bells strike eleven o'clock that they remembered the hard day ahead of them.

They said a slightly awkward goodbye, as those who are barely acquainted are often like to do, and the Colonel promised to join the Collins' for breakfast the next day.

Even undressing for bed in the dark failed to stop the smile playing on Charlotte's lips. Similarly, Colonel Fitzwilliam happily hummed his way along the darkened lane back to the inn.

AN: The pubs, the games, the books, The Siege of Cadiz and even General Graham and Major Duncan are all real.


	4. Chapter 3

Once again thanks must go to my beta reader littlebeloved, she's an absolute star. Also I'd like to thank everyone who had read this story and sent me kind words of encouragement, you're all absolute darlings!

Chapter 3

Despite an early start and an excellent breakfast, the party were not able to leave the inn before eleven o'clock that morning: it seemed that the entire animal populace of Hampshire was to be herded past the Bounty Inn towards the market place. Philip had been dispatched to try and reason with the herdsmen, but there was no reasoning with them: the cattle had always come down Bounty lane, and it appeared that they always would. The men took great offence at the offering of mere money as an inducement to steer their animals into another lane, and it seemed at one point that they might summon the constable to make a complaint. Philip hastily retreated to the Inn where he delivered the bad news to The Colonel and Mrs Collins. There was nothing for it but to order tea and to allow the children into the lane to watch the carnival of the animals passing through.

From her spot by the window of the private parlour, Charlotte enjoyed the view of her children honking at the geese and baaing at the lambs, all under the watchful eye of Philip. At one point, William leapt clucking into a clutch of chickens, sending them squawking and scattering in every direction. The anger of the man in whose charge they were was as nothing to that of the cock, who dropped and extended both wings, puffed out all his feathers and charged through the yard like a bull towards the laughing William. Thankfully, Philip was just quick enough to grasp the unsuspecting boy out of the way of the cock's path, sending the angry bird careering into a stable wall and causing Charlotte to burst out laughing.

It was just at this moment that the Colonel returned from settling the account with the landlord, and he was utterly bemused to find Charlotte alone, gasping with laughter and incapable of giving him a full account of the reason why. She eventually pointed out the window to a scene of relative calm: the chicken man was berating Philip for his unruly charges, and Anne was trying to steer the obviously dazed cock back towards his company of hens, a job made harder by his drunken listing and walking in circles. This sight alone was enough to amuse the Colonel; he could well imagine that William lay at the root of the concussed cock.

Leaving as they did at eleven meant that they would not reach Oxford by lunchtime, and so it was decided that they would lunch at Pangborne and then press on for Oxford and Stratford. The short morning in the carriage passed quickly, with William recounting his battle with the cock, a bird of ever increasing size and ferocity with each telling of the story: Charlotte feared that it would be the size of the Colonel's horse by the time they reached Derbyshire. Anne read them a little from her book, and Charlotte enjoyed the cool of the journey as they passed beside an unknown river.

Lunch, coming so soon after morning tea, was a quick affair, and they were all on the road again by one thirty, passing Oxford with little more than a glance at around four o'clock. It had been raining in Oxfordshire, and the going was somewhat heavier. The carriage's wheels did not like the sticky ground, and Philip eventually had to slow right down to a cart's pace. At first, the marked change in temperature was a blessed relief to Charlotte, but the children were distressed by the storm outside the window, and the horses were similarly skittish.

In an attempt to comfort William, Charlotte allowed him to climb up into her lap, where she held him tight and murmured soft words of reassurance into his soft hair. Anne clung to her side, unwilling to show her baby brother that she was as afraid as him, but all the same looking wildly about whenever there was a flash of lightning, before hastily burying her head in her mother's side.

As the coach crested a hill some three or four miles outside Oxford, the rain was at it's absolute worst. Charlotte could barely see the trees on the side of the road for the rain, and her heart went out to Philip and Colonel Fitzwilliam, both riding out in this dreadful storm.

No sooner had this thought formed in her mind, than one of the horses gave a terrible cry, audible even above the noise of the rain, and the carriage pitched forward violently, sending William flying off her lap and Charlotte herself sustaining a dizzying blow as her forehead collided with the frame of the window. Charlotte reached out towards him thinking that the worst was over, but another violent lurch sent the carriage off at an angle that no sensible person could consider safe, and suddenly they were pitching and rolling at some speed downhill. Charlotte attempted to grasp both children in her arms giving them what protection she could, but it was no use: it appeared that Philip had lost all control of the carriage, and that they were being carried down hill by a torrent of water.

It seemed a lifetime before the carriage came to a halt, and although she had managed to keep a hold of Anne, William had been thrown with some force against the opposite seat of the carriage and for a horrible moment in the stillness of the seconds that followed, Charlotte hardly dared to breath lest the worst be true. A second later, her youngest child began to whimper, and Charlotte released that breath. Leaning towards him, she saw at once that his left leg was broken below the knee. He tried to reach up towards her, but Charlotte lay a calming hand upon his chest and told him not to move. She knew he would be in tremendous pain, but she had to ascertain the full extent of the situation before deciding what to do. She turned to Anne and quickly established that but for a few scratches and the shock of seeing her little brother in such a state, she was as well as could be hoped. Charlotte asked Anne in a very grave voice if she felt capable of looking after William whilst her mother climbed out of the carriage and went to find Philip. Anne, knowing that her mother was charging her with a great task, nodded seriously and added that she would keep William from trying to get up. There was nothing for it: Charlotte had to leave William with Anne and hope that her natural gentleness and kindness would see him through the next few moments.

Charlotte opened the door and stepped out of the carriage without her travelling cloak, knowing she would need it later to wrap around William. The rain had lessoned, but it was still enough to soak one after a just few minutes, so Charlotte rushed around the carriage in search of Philip, in the process learning that they had lost a wheel and one of the horses had broken free of the harness. She could only hope it was unhurt.

"Philip … Philip, are you there?" she called in an uncertain voice. "... Are you hurt?"

Seeing no immediate sign of Philip, Charlotte glanced up the hill which they had so unceremoniously just descended, and saw lying half on the road and half in the ditch the figure of Philip. She lifted her skirts and ran to him, praying with all her heart that he was alive.

She stooped low over him and saw his eyes were closed; gently she reached out and wiped mud from his cheek, a useless gesture, but she was at a loss for what to do.

"Philip? Philip, can you hear me?" At first nothing, and then a groan. His eyes opened reluctantly and then a look of shock flashed across his face as though he were wondering who and where he was, and why was this woman kneeling beside him in the rain.

"Philip, are you hurt?" Mrs Collins' concerned voiced brought him right back into the present. He sat upright, but was brought up sharply by a stabbing pain in his ribs; his gasping intake of breath and the way in which he gingerly held himself as he attempted to stand told Charlotte everything she needed to know. Her brother, Robert, had once broken three ribs in a riding accident, and Dr Moncrief had instructed Charlotte and her mother to bind the area as tightly as they dared, in order to give him some relief. Charlotte knew this would be necessary in Philip's case and tried immediately to think of something in her valise that might do for the binding. It was no good: she could hardly bind him in her night clothes, and the children's clothes were equally useless. She was afraid he would have to suffer for the moment.

They were in a dreadful situation, but Charlotte was determined not to panic. She calmly asked Philip if, before the accident, he had seen any villages nearby, but he could not be sure as the rain had been so hard. He knew there had been a village a mile out of Oxford, but the thought of trying to aid Philip and Anne up that wretched hill whilst carrying William could not be borne. They would have to press forward and trust to God to provide a village and easy passage.

Philip was determined to help her despite his obvious discomfort, and it was he who suggested unhitching the remaining horse from the carriage in order that it might carry Charlotte and the children to that much hoped for village. Charlotte did not quite like the idea of riding when an injured man would have to walk, but she knew that William would fret and possibly cause more pain to Philip if he was sat in his arms.

Charlotte spotted a tree stump to which she lead the horse and had Philip hold the reins, whilst she returned to the carriage to get first Anne, and then William. She carried Anne in her arms and lifted her up onto the horses back, telling her to hold on tight to the horse's reigns.

Re-entering the carriage, she found that William's whimpers had broken into to all out cries of pain. She held him gently in her arms and slowly descended the carriage steps, turning gingerly so as not to cause any blow to William's leg. Once at the stump, she handed William into Philip's arm, and though he made no sound, she saw him flinch with pain.

"Look at the two of us, Master William! You with a broken leg, and me a couple o' broken ribs – what a fine pair of ninnies we make!" said Philip in a cheery voice, as Charlotte clambered with little grace onto the tree stump and then onto the horse.

The only way that it would be possible to ensure that William was as little bumped as possible would be if Anne sat behind Charlotte, and she had explained this to Anne in the carriage. Normally, Anne would have baulked and chafed at such a suggestion, but even at the tender age of five, Anne could see that this was not the time to voice such objections.

As soon as she was settled on the horse, Charlotte bent down to take William from Philip's arms, knowing that the act of lifting him up would cause untold pain, which again he did without a word of complaint. Charlotte was more grateful than she could ever say.

And so, they began their slow progress towards the unknown.

--

Colonel Fitzwilliam was not enjoying his afternoon's progress: the rain had taken all the pleasure out of the ride. Normally a little rain was a welcome thing on a day like this, but such a downpour meant that he was spending his entire time looking out for potholes where the road had washed away and steering a decidedly unhappy Scheherazade out of the path of fallen branches that might tear at her fetlocks.

The Colonel as a rule loved Oxfordshire, having spent his years up at university exploring it in some depth, and he felt saddened that Mrs Collins who had travelled so little should pass through it on such an unfavourable day.

An angry snort from Scheherazade brought the Colonel out of his reverie. He suspected that his Spanish horse was less than impressed with the weather of her adopted home. A quarter mile ahead lay the village of Yarnton, and the Colonel decided to call in at the Inn there to allow both himself and Scheherazade some respite from the rain. The landlord, a hearty looking man of five and fifty years who introduced himself as Mr Redfern, welcomed the Colonel in most kindly and bid a serving maid bring towels that he might dry himself.

It was getting on for five o'clock by this time, and the Colonel had asked the ostlers to watch out for Mrs Collin's carriage. The rain had eased quite considerably, but the Colonel was beginning to worry at the slow progress that they were obviously making. He had complete faith in Darcy's man Philip, but knew that when the earth was baked hard a sudden downpour could prove treacherous.

By ten past five the Colonel had made arrangements with Redfern to prepare rooms for the night. At this late stage they would never make Stratford, so he secured a private parlour for supper and arranged to take out one of the staging horses in Scheherazade's stead to escort Mrs Collins' carriage back to the inn.

The Colonel had not travelled more than a mile before he spotted a slow moving group at quite a distance: a man leading a horse with a woman and bundle on it's back. At first, he gave them no more than a cursory glance, but as both parties drew nearer he recognised the material in which the bundle was swathed as Mrs Collins' cloak, and he immediately picked up his pace. His horse was not as used to a rider as he would have liked, but it entered into the spirit of things, and in five minutes he was with them. He dismounted and surveyed the group: Philip was walking far slower than his usual brisk pace; Mrs Collins was very pale and there seemed to be a quantity of blood on the right hand side of her face; William lay in her arms sobbing; and at first there seemed no sign of Anne at all, but she peeped her forlorn face around her mothers back, and he smiled to see her.

"Philip, what has happened here?"

"I'm afraid the carriage got away from me sir, coming down that last hill after Wolvercote. We lost a wheel, t'other horse and worse: Mistress Collins is hurt and young Master William has broken his leg."

At this, Mrs Collins spoke. "I am really no more than scratched, but I am worried about William. It is nearly an hour since the accident, and he has grown colder and quieter: he needs attention and soon."

The Colonel, no stranger to the work of the regimental surgeon, knew at once that both William's broken leg and the cut above Mrs Collins' eye were serious injuries. Drawing the rein of his horse to the left, he pulled along side Mrs Collins and asked to be handed William. He knew that at least he could lessen the strain on her by lightening her load.

William whimpered when first he was passed over, but even in the depths of pain his hero-worship of the "Curhole" remained, and he was determined to show the Colonel what a good soldier he was. The Colonel smile down at him and told him they would soon have him comfortable again.

Turning to Mrs Collins, the Colonel said, "There is an Inn a half mile from here. I have secured us rooms. I think it would be best if you rode on ahead of Philip, William and myself, and had them send for the doctor."

Charlotte was by this time so tired and heart sick with worry that she would have welcomed any suggestion, but she saw immediately that this was the most sensible course of action. Philip helped Anne to clamber around her mother and sit in her arms, and Charlotte nudged the horse forward, gathering pace to a steady trot.

Her relief at seeing the Inn was doubled when she was received by the kindly landlord and his equally good wife, who once the situation was made clear, set about preparing the inn to receive the invalids. A kitchen boy was sent to summon Dr Robertson, whom they assured Mrs Collins treated all the best people in the surrounding neighbourhood and was even sent for from Oxford by some of the Dons. Anne was taken upstairs by a rosy-cheeked serving maid to have her wet clothes removed and to ensure her absence when the awful business of bone setting began.

It was a further half hour before the Colonel, William and Philip entered the yard, and by this time Charlotte had made the acquaintance of Dr Robertson, a tall thin man with a kindly disposition who seemed to find the good in everything he saw. He had wanted to take a look at the cut on Charlotte's head as soon as he saw it, but Charlotte refused to countenance it until he had seen William and Philip first.

The Colonel carried William into the parlour, and he was laid out on the table, which had been wiped down in preparation. The Doctor, who was a shrewd judge of character for all his kindliness, knew that whilst Mrs Collins did not seem the sort of woman who fainted at every small thing, but to see her son undergo the setting of his leg would be more than she could bear, so he asked the Colonel to escort her from the room, leaving William in the care of Philip, the Landlords wife and the good Doctor.

There was no other private parlour, and it would not have been seemly for Mrs Collins to enter the public bar for any reason, so she and Colonel Fitzwilliam lurked in the hallway between the two like a pair of scullery maids. The Colonel entreated Mrs Collins to sit, but an excess of nervous energy kept her pacing the floor.

Inside the room, the Doctor administered a dose of laudanum to William, knowing that a young child would balk at brandy and waited a few minutes for it to take effect before instructing Mrs Redfern and Philip where to hold William as he began the rotation and setting of the bone.

William's scream of agony peirced not only the parlour door, but upstairs Anne heard it, too, and she rushed out of the arms of the maid in search of her brother. Mrs Collins caught her at the bottom of the stairs and swept her up in her arms with reassuring words, stroking her hair in an attempt to comfort her. Charlotte explained what had gone on behind the oak door and that truly it had been for Williams benefit. Anne quietened, and Charlotte was able to once more entrust her to the care of the maid, just in time to be admitted to the parlour by Dr Robertson. Charlotte turned and entreated the Colonel to follow, saying that she knew William would want to see him, too.

William was lying sleeping on the parlour dining table with a pillow at his head, half swaddled in his mothers cloak whilst the landlady baithed his forehead with vinegar water. His left leg, the breeches torn to the thigh, was tightly bound to a splint with clean bandaging. Charlotte could not believe quite how small he seemed before her.

Dr Robertson could see that Mrs Collins' mind was not entirely focused, and so he adressed the bulk of his instructions to Colonel Fitzwilliam and the landlady. He then told the Colonel to carry the boy up to a bedroom whilst he saw to Philip.

Never a man entirely comfortable indoors, Philip insisted that they adjourn to the stables for the binding of his ribs, and this momentarily left Charlotte alone in the parlour. Whilst ever there had been things to do Charlotte had been able to keep the pain in her head at bay but now that William and Anne were safe and Philip being seen to, the full force of the blow which she had received in the carriage descended upon her in agonising waves. Charlotte tried for the sopha, but a black curtain descended before her eyes, and she briefly knew that she was falling.

AN: Sopha is the late 18th century word for what we call the sofa, but you probably didn't need me to tell you that.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Colonel Fitzwilliam descended the stairs, passed through the dark hallway and entered the parlour, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the change in light, and his thoughts entirely taken up with the doctor's instructions regarding William.

"William is asleep, and Mrs Redf…" the words froze upon his lips as his eyes refocused on the still form of Mrs Collins lying motionless near the sopha. He was across the room in three steps and kneeling before her, anxiously searching her face for signs of consciousness. He saw none. Turning to the open door, he shouted, "Girl! Girl, come quickly!"

A few seconds later, a maid appeared looking flustered, still holding a flagon of wine.

"Sir… you ..."

"Go find the doctor at once and bring him here!"

She hurried out, spilling a little wine in the process, but the Colonel cared nothing for that: all he could think was what a fool he had been to leave Mrs Collins alone at such a time.

The moments seemed like hours waiting for the doctor. Colonel Fitzwilliam could not bear to see her lying on the floor like a disguarded doll, so he leant down, placing his arms beneath her neck and knees and carefully gathered her up in his arms. The dead weight of her head lolled against his arm, and he studied her face: a large purple bruise was forming down the right hand side of her face below a cut at least an inch long, which stretched from her brow to her hair line. He inched towards the sopha on his knees and gently deposited Mrs Collins upon it. His arm remained beneath her neck as he reached out for a supporting cushion. Lifting her head up a little more to place the cushion beneath it, he saw her eyelids begin to flutter, and he felt immeasurable relief at this sign. A moment later, as he lowered her head onto the cushion, she uttered a sigh. Withdrawing his arm from beneath her head, the Colonel tenderly brushed a stray tendril of hair from her brow. His touch was met with another sigh, and he smiled down at her, noticing that a little colour had returned to her cheeks.

Charlotte was first aware of the pain: her head ached as never before, a throbbing so violent that she felt unwell. After the pain came the confusion: her eyes would not focus adequately on the face looking down at her. She judged it to be a man and could only assume it was her husband, but where were they?

"William?" she asked in a weak voice, her right hand reaching up to touch his face as though she might find some understanding in touching his familiar face. But the face was not that of Mr Collins, and it's owner quickly grasped her hand in his own, lowering her hand slowly to her side, but not letting go.

"No, Mrs Collins, you are confused. I'm Colonel Fitzwilliam, and you have fainted. The doctor will be here any moment." And as if his words had magically summoned the man, the doctor appeared at his side.

"Sir, may I ask you to step back? I need to examine Mrs Collins and tend to her injuries."

The Colonel started to rise, but realised he was still holding Mrs Collins' hand in his own. He looked down, and in the moment before he released her fingers, he felt a gentle pressure which he took to be silent thanks.

Dr Robertson set about his work with quiet efficiency. He asked her what she could remember before fainting, how she had sustained the cut above her brow, and how she felt now. All this she conveyed in a voice a little above a whisper. It was plain that she was in quite some pain: at one point the Colonel saw her wince when, out in the yard, a stable lad shouted to one of his companions from just below the parlour window. At once, he walked across the room and closed the window gently. He considered drawing the curtains, but the doctor would need light to dress her wounds.

The doctor, having gathered all the information he needed for the meantime, asked the Colonel for his help in bandaging the wound. Using the remaining vinegar water left in a bowl on the table, the doctor cleaned up Mrs Collins' face and when there was not trace of blood he turned to his bag, removed a length of bandage, and summoned Colonel Fitzwilliam to his side.

"Firstly, sir, I need you to look over her hair and see that there are no pins nor ornaments in it, as it will not do to have them bandaged up as well." The Colonel smiled, and as the good doctor held her upright, made his inspection. There were no ornaments, but there were a number of pins, and the Colonel immediately set about retrieving them from Mrs Collins' hair. He did not know the name of the style in which Mrs Collins kept her hair, but he was struck buy the ingenuity with which it was constructed. The Colonel was sure she would not want it to grow tangled (the prevention of tangles being his youngest sister, Marguerite's, chief aim in life) and so he drew out her hair with his fingers, smoothing and straightening as he went. When he was satisfied that he had all the pins and that Mrs Collins' hair would have to do, he looked to the doctor for the next task.

"I'm going to have to ask you to hold Mrs Collins whilst I bandage her head. If you would come round and sit behind her head as I lift her up, then perhaps she can simply rest against your side whilst you hold her arms."

The Colonel unquestioningly followed these orders, and soon found himself with Mrs Collins' back lightly pressed against one side of his chest, and his hands supporting her elbows whilst the doctor carefully bound the bandaging around her head.

Charlotte tried to hold herself tensely throughout the bandaging, in part to prevent herself from whimpering with pain, but also in mortification at being too weak to remain upright and, therefore, being obliged to the poor Colonel for his support. She prayed that the good doctor would hurry, and that she would not have to impose on the Colonel for much longer.

As the doctor worked, Colonel Fitzwilliam became aware of how tense Mrs Collins seemed, and his thumbs unconsciously circled the soft skin of her inner arm, below her elbows. It was a barely perceptible movement, but it had the desired effect: there was a slackening of Mrs Collins' frame, and the gentle pressure against his chest grew heavier.

"Careful!" cried the doctor sharply, who only noticed that his patient appeared to have slumped further back. In response, the Colonel tightened his grip on Mrs Collins' arms. In such proximity to Mrs Collins, he could not help but notice her perfume: a warm, floral scent that seemed very familiar to him, but that he could not yet place. It must have been some fashionable item that his sisters wore and yet it did not remind him of his sisters. If anything, it made him think of Spain.

"Sir … Colonel Fitzwilliam? Can you hold Mrs Collins more upright for just one moment longer?"

The Colonel's reverie was broken, and he concentrated his mind on holding Mrs Collins just as the doctor required.

The doctor secured the bandage with a pin of his own and then knelt down before Mrs Collins and the Colonel. Looking directly at her, he said, "Mrs Collins, I need not tell you about the pain in your head, but I think it important to say that you must take complete bed rest for at least the next day. You were out it in that rain for quite some time, and just as your son is in danger from a fever, so are you."

"But William..?" she asked feebly

"Between myself, the Colonel and the excellent Mrs Redfern, William shall have all the care he needs and wants. Am I not right, Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

"Aye, sir," agreed the Colonel sincerely.

Charlotte knew she was in no condition to argue and hence submitted meekly to the doctor.

The doctor called Mrs Redfern in to ask if Mrs Collins' room was ready. On finding that it was, the Colonel and the doctor attempted to help Mrs Collins stand, but she was far too weak, and so for the second time that hour, Colonel Fitzwilliam found himself carrying a member of the Collins family up the staircase to bed.

The Colonel immediately excused himself, knowing that Mrs Redfern would be required to aid the doctor in a more delicate manner than in which it was proper for him to assist.

The next half an hour was spent in the parlour, blindly thumbing through elderly periodicals whilst he ran over their current situation in his mind. He did not need the good doctor to tell him that they would be staying some days at the inn. Mrs Collins needed rest after her ordeal, and William could certainly not be moved. Philip, too, would be unable to perform his duties for at least a week, though he would protest otherwise. A message would have to be sent to the Darcys, they would certainly be expecting Mrs Collins and her little family by the end of the week, but that would not be possible.

Colonel Fitzwilliam summoned the landlord and enquired when the next mail coach was due. "Three hours," came the answer, and so he summoned parchment and ink and set about writing a letter to Darcy. He had thought first to write to Elizabeth, but in her delicate state, who knew what such a shock might induce. He tried to word the letter with a mind to giving the least worry, but he knew that such a letter could not conceal the gravity of the situation, and he also gave vent to his own feelings of guilt at not having been there to somehow prevent the accident from happening.

_The Red Lion Inn_

_Yarnton_

_Oxfordshire_

_August 15th_

_Darcy,_

_I write to you with grave news. O__ur party has met with an accident today. I am well, but I am afraid that Mrs Collins, her family and your groom have not been so lucky. The weather here today has been most inclement, and Philip lost control of the carriage whilst descending a hill outside Oxford. In the course of the carriage's rapid descent, Mrs Collins sustained an injury to her head, Master William broke his leg and Philip has broken a couple of ribs. Miss Collins, I am happy to report, escaped unharmed._

_To my great shame__, I have to admit that I was not with the party at this point, having ridden on ahead. You can imagine my horror at discovering what had happened. I blame myself entirely: had I been nearby, I might have been able to warn Philip and in some way contrived to prevent this from happening._

_For now, let me assure you that all is as well as can be hoped. Mrs Collins, William and Philip are all in the care of an excellent surgeon, and we have happened upon a landlady who has proved an admirable nursemaid to all of us._

_I am sure you realise that the continuation of our journey will have to be postponed for some days: the doctor is concerned that in addition to their injuries, the invalids may be susceptible to fever, having spent quite some time out in the rain after the accident. I shall journey out tomorrow to inspect the carriage, to see what may be done to restore it to the road._

_Please try to convey to your wife that the best care is being taken of her friend, and that I shall not countenance a move until the doctor says that they are fit to progress._

_Yours,_

_Fitzwilliam._

The Colonel folded, sealed and addressed the letter before handing it to the landlord to give to the mail coach man. He then set about organising the recovery of all of the family's baggage, which remained with the carriage and would be liable to theft when the rain let up. Philip insisted that he should be the one to lead the cart boy to the carriage and to supervise the removal of the portmanteau and other items.

This left the colonel alone in the parlour once more, awaiting the doctor.

Dr Robertson entered the parlour and spied the Colonel looking most downheartedly at the fire.

"Colonel, take heart, sir: they are both young and strong. They shall both make a fine recovery: you see if they don't!"

"Thank you, sir, but that gives me little comfort. They were in my charge; I should have prevented it somehow."

"Are you a God, Sir? For only the Gods may command the heavens! Thank goodness you weren't there or you might have been hurt, too, and then were would Mrs Collins and poor young William have been, hey?"

"I…"

"No, sir, it was no more your fault than it is your fault it rained, and you're a fool if you think otherwise."

The Colonel had very rarely been called a fool and normally it would have angered him, but in his current state this kind, sensible man's words pierced through the blanket of guilt which had settled upon him, and he smiled like the foolish boy he was.

"Now, sir, that's better. Mrs Collins wishes to see you. When you go up, I want you to give her this dose of laudanum: it'll help her sleep, which is really all she needs. That wound will heal itself, and she'll be up and about in a day or two. I bid you good day, sir. I shall return on the morrow to check on my patients." And with that, he handed the Colonel the dose of laudanum and left.

Once again, the Colonel climbed the staircase. He turned right at the top and knocked softly at the third door on the left. He was admitted by Mrs Redfern, who led him over to the bed. The curtains of the room had already been drawn, the doctor having said that darkness would give Mrs Collins some relief.

He saw her lying in the centre of a large comfortable looking bed, her head slightly elevated by a number of pillows at her back, her dark hair contrasting wildly with the pristine white linen. Mrs Redfern withdrew to the other side of the room and busied herself, whilst the Colonel sat in the chair beside her bed.

In a low voice she began, "Colonel, I had to thank you for everything you have done today ..."

"Please…" he interrupted, "please do not thank me. I have done nothing that anyone else would not have done."

"…and still, I find that I must thank you, sir," she said smilingly.

"I shall accept your thanks, though I do not feel that I am deserving of them."

"What a sad world it would be if we only received what we deserved."

At this, the Colonel also smiled, though he could not help noticing an alien sensation in his chest: a sudden loss of breath that came and went in a moment.

Remembering the small bottle in his hand, the Colonel turned to Mrs Redfern and asked for her assistance in giving the dose to Mrs Collins. Mrs Redfern lifted Mrs Collins' head off the pillow, and the Colonel put the dose to Mrs Collins' lips, and he watched as she drank down the laudanum.

His parting words were of reassurance that both William and Anne would be taken care of whilst she was indisposed, and with that, he left to find Anne and to give her supper.

Lying in his bed that night, he could not help contrast the day with the previous one, and, to his amazement, he noted that Mrs Collins had made no more fuss about the accident than she had about the difficulty securing rooms at Basingstoke. He was beginning to suspect that Mrs Darcy's friend was a woman of great worth.

AN: Afraid there will now be at least a weeks pause as I'm off to Derbyshire for a week... and won't have much time to write. Thank you for your reviews.


	6. Chapter 5

_Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, as always this was beta'd by little beloved._

Chapter 5

In all their previous meetings, Anne's character had been somewhat overwhelmed by that of her younger brother, but with no William to outshine her and no mother to hide behind, Anne and the Colonel's first breakfast together went surprisingly well. They talked of birds and horses and the many other creatures that took her fancy; they spoke of William's leg and how long it would be before he could walk; and finally they spoke of her mother. It was easy to perceive that Anne was trying to be brave, but a five year old girl is not meant to spend fourteen hours without seeing hide nor hair of her mother ,and it had become too much for her to bare. At last, in a very small voice, she asked the Colonel if he would mind terribly if she visited her mother just for a moment or two. She promised not to say a word, "Only please let me see Mama!"

The Colonel smiled and said that after breakfast they should visit Mrs Collins, and that he was sure she might say one or two words to her mother without causing her distress.

Anne, in her ecstasy, bolted the remainder of her breakfast at a speed the Colonel felt might have choked a stray dog, and though much of his own remained untouched, he gave it up in favour of escorting Anne to her mother's door.

Here Anne hesitated and slipped her hand into the Colonel's own. "Will you come in too, sir?"

"Just for a moment."

The Colonel knocked, and they were admitted to the cool, dark room by Mrs Redfern. Anne stood half behind his leg as she searched the gloom for her mother; the Colonel squeezed her hand and in a low tone said, "It's all right, the darkness is to ease your mother's headache." And with that, he drew Anne across the room towards the bed and her gently smiling parent.

"Little love!" said Charlotte. "Have you been a good girl for the Colonel?" Anne nodded gravely and leaned forward onto the bed, drawing comfort from her mother's proximity. Charlotte held out a hand, and Anne instinctively reached for it.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, would you be so good as to lift Anne onto the bed for me?" Hardly had the words left her mouth than it was done, and she was holding Anne in her arms and gently cooing her.

The Colonel did not wish to intrude on this scene of motherly affection, and so withdrew to the other side of the room where he asked Mrs Redfern how the night had passed. According to Mrs Redfern, all had been as one could have hoped: Mrs Collins had woken just the once in the night with a great thirst, which had been easily assuaged, and she had had no difficulty in going back to sleep afterward.

At some point in the evening, Philip and the cart boy had returned with all the Collins' possessions, and they had set about reuniting the family with their belongings. Mrs Collins' portmanteau had been carried upstairs to the room where she lay, and Mrs Redfern had silently unpacked each item, knowing that a woman likes to be surrounded by her own things even when she is far from home and most especially when she is unwell.

As Mrs Redfern moved away from the Colonel to busy herself elsewhere in the room, the Colonel meant to take his leave, but his senses had once again been assailed by Mrs Collin's perfume. The sweet, rich, floral scent was almost overpoweringly strong in the corner of the room nearest the open portmanteau case. His brow furrowed, and at that moment, Mrs Collins looked up and at once perceived the matter.

"I am afraid, sir, that my scent bottle did not survive its fall and that all my possessions contained within that case will have to be aired quite considerably before they are fit to go out in public again!" She said this with a smile, but the Colonel detected a wistful air in her tone: she must obviously regret the loss of so fine a perfume.

He returned her smile and said, "Ma'am, I shall be going to Oxford this morning to see the coachbuilder about the carriage. Do you have any errands you wish me to execute on your behalf?"

"None, sir, but… William?" Not feeling brave enough to ask how William was to be cared for in his absence, the question was never the less implicit.

Here Mrs Redfern stepped in to allay all fears, explaining that her own daughter had been brought in to entertain William by playing card games, reading to him and watching over him whilst ever he slept. Mrs Collins was well satisfied with this answer, and the Colonel bid her good day.

Scheherazade was in fine fettle as they set out for Oxford, high stepping her way along the lane. The day had dawned clear and bright, and had it not been for the occasional puddle visible in the fields beyond the hedgerows, one might never have known that it had rained the previous day.

Stopping beside the broken wreck of the Darcy's carriage, he took note of everything that would need to be done and tried hard not to think of the terrifying experience Mrs Collins must have endured for those few minutes. The agony of seeing a child so gravely hurt; the fear of not knowing if help would come. Fresh waves of guilt washed over him, but he resolved to rebuke himself later when he was alone in his room. For now, there was far too much to be done.

The sandstone buildings of Oxford seemed to glow as the Colonel and Scheherazade entered the city, making their way down St Giles and Cornmarket Street onto the High Street. Here he found the address of the coachbuilder recommended to him by Mr Redfern, at the sign above the entrance gate "J Collins & Co". The Colonel gave a slight smile and passed through, leading Scheherazade by her bridle. A frightful noise came from the forge, where all about lengths of metal and wood were being bent to the coach makers' will. Thankfully, both the Colonel and Scheherazade were used to such commotion having been in the thick of war. They waited patiently for a few moments before a vast man in a leather apron approached and softly asked how he might be of service. It took half an hour to conclude his business with the man (who turned out to be Mr Collins' son John), and it was arranged that they should journey out together to visit the carriage where John could make his assessment and make the necessary arrangements for his men to remove it. Mr John Collins had been most interested when the Colonel revealed that the coach had been built in London by none other than Barker and Co., that most fashionable of London coachbuilders. The Colonel smiled to see the man take such a professional interest in the work of others in his trade and felt that the coach could not have been entrusted to a better man. Unfortunately, Mr John Collins was not able to think of leaving his place of business before two o'clock, so it was necessary that the Colonel to entertain himself for two hours before they could set out.

It was approaching lunch time, and the grumbling of his stomach reminded the Colonel of the half finished breakfast that might still lie in the parlour awaiting his return.

Leaving Scheherazade in the care of the Coachbuilder, the Colonel headed up the High Street to the Angel Inn where he bespoke himself an excellent cold lunch of beef and ale pie, a favourite from his student days.

With at least another hour to fill before returning to the coachbuilders, the Colonel settled his dues and made his way up Radcliffe Street towards the Broad. He had intended to head straight for Blackwell's where he could spend the hour perusing the dizzying selection of books within, but his eye was caught by the window of a shop selling curiosities. There, nestled amongst the stuffed heads of long dead animals and other dusty items, sat a small blue bird seemingly made of metal.

Before the Colonel had time to think about what he was doing, he had entered the shop and enquired about it. The bird was produced and proved to be more interesting than the Colonel could possibly have hoped. The shop keeper withdrew a small key from a side compartment of the walnut pedestal on which the bird stood, and turning it four times at the base, inducing the small creature to begin singing and at the same time moving its delicate wings as though doing so would release it from its base. The effect was quite beautiful, and the Colonel resolved immediately to purchase it for Anne. The shop keeper took great care in wrapping the delicate creature for the Colonel whilst he looked about for another treasure that might have suited William, but none was to be found there.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's parents had believed in equality between their children, and the Colonel knew just how savagely a sibling might resent a gift given when none was forthcoming to oneself, so he asked the shop keeper to direct him to the nearest toy shop.

Taking the parcel, he made haste there and found to his delight that the place was fairly heaving with items that would delight William. Realising that in the young man's current condition those toys which encouraged one to run about, jump and cavort would be least appreciated, the Colonel enquired about toy soldiers and found that they had an excellent selection of men and guns: just the thing for William to be setting up all over the bed and imagining himself in command.

This parcel was also wrapped with great care, and the Colonel set off back towards the Coachbuilder's. On Radcliff Street the Colonel paused outside the apothecary, recalling that his mother always swore by the use of a certain herb when her headaches became too vexatious. "Now, what was the name?" a few moments muttering to himself and he recalled it, exclaiming, "Feverfew!" at a startled group of children lingering nearby.

There was a queue of four people ahead of him in the apothecary's. Observing his fellow patrons, at one counter the Colonel saw an elderly man enquiring in hushed tones about something that was obviously causing him a great deal of embarrassment. At the second counter stood a well dressed young woman of two and twenty, accompanied by a woman the Colonel took to be an older female relative: a mother or an aunt. They were animatedly discussing perfume with the man behind the counter, and it was this that drew the Colonel's attention. The man had produced bottles of oil and was blending minute quantities in a bowl for the mother and daughter to approve. Thus far, he was having little luck: the daughter seemed to think that no mere provincial could match the great perfumeries of Paris, and she objected to being made to consider this man's efforts. Eventually the mother saw that her daughter could not be reasoned with, and they withdrew from the shop.

When at last the Colonel's turn came to be served, his mind was made up to purchase a small bottle of perfume for Mrs Collins in addition to the fever-few. The man behind the counter quickly wrapped up an ounce of dried feverfew, and they began to discus the perfume to be blended. The Colonel, never having turned his mind to such a subject, was a novice and happy to be guided by the man in most things, and so the apothecary produced numerous bottles of oil for him to choose his favourites. The Colonel most favoured the Jasmine and Lotus flower oils: Blended together with a base of sweet almond oil, these two combined to give a warm enticing scent which lingered just long enough to stir up memories of boyhood and endless days spent in fields and by streams. The Colonel was particularly pleased with this concoction, and when the man suggested that it be decanted into one of a selection of Venetian perfume bottles that they had just taken possession of, the Colonel leapt upon the idea, choosing a small spherical bottle through which blue glass strands ran like ink clouds in water, topped by a tapering stopper, the whole gave the appearance of a rain drop.

With his four neatly wrapped packages, the Colonel made his way back to the coachbuilders yard where he found Scheherazade being fed an apple by a smiling and toothless child of no more than nine years. His delight in his purchases extended to rewarding the boy with a shilling for his kindness.

Progress with John Collins was a slow business. He sat astride a cart pulled by two enormous Bakewell Black horses, and sat on the back of the cart were a wiry old man and a young man of twenty or so years who was asleep by the time they reached St Giles. Proceeding north out of Oxford, their party drew the attention of quite a crowd of small boys who followed the cart to the city limits, cheering and waving sticks at them, but breaking out into the open country they found themselves alone on the road. It took an hour to reach the carriage where Collins and his men examined it at great length before pronouncing that it was not a hopeless case.

This pleased the Colonel enormously, and he parted from the men on very good terms, promising to call on them in two days time to check on the progress of the work. The remainder of his days ride passed entirely without his noticing, for his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts were in his right hand breast pocket where sat the small bottle of perfume. He had been so caught up in the moment earlier that he had not thought to think through the propriety of giving a woman perfume; it implied things, and the Colonel could not impugn such a woman's reputation. He touched his hand to his breast pocket and rode on, feeling himself resolved on the subject.

The Inn was fairly quiet when he returned, handing Scheherazade into Philip's care (the man simply would not rest, he said that his father would not have ceased for so trifling a matter as a couple of broken ribs and he'd rather die than do so himself.)

Having visited William before breakfast when he was not yet awake and had looked very pale, the Colonel was delighted to see the flush of joy that coloured William's cheeks as he entered the sick room.

"Curhol!" he exclaimed.

"Captain Collins," said the Colonel, saluting.

Crossing the room, the Colonel produced a blue paper package, which he gave to William saying, "A few more recruits for your battalion."

William could not be expected to understand the Colonel's words, but he knew a present when he saw one, and he heartily ripped the paper away to reveal dozens of little tin soldiers and even a gun carriage or two.

"Solders!" he cried in wonder.

"Indeed," said the Colonel, smiling. He eased himself onto the bed, careful not to knock or bump William's small frame and said, "I thought you could have a few battles in bed: Your legs will make fine mountain ranges and hills."

The next hour was spent in quiet concentration as the two arranged the tin soldiers about the bed and then began playing at battle. The colonel did not know who was more delighted, himself or William, to discover that the gun carriages blasted real pellets across the counterpane when the string at the back was tugged. At length, the Colonel saw William was beginning to flag and declared that he himself was in great need of some sleep. William resisted half heartedly the Colonel's withdrawal, but the exhaustion he felt quickly overtook him.

Leaving the sickroom, the Colonel was followed out by Miss Redfern from whom he enquired about William's day. She was able to furnish him with a good deal of excellent news: The boy had eaten well, slept well and had had only a small dose of laudanum to sustain him. Dr Robertson had called before luncheon and declared himself very happy with the boy's progress. Thanking Miss Redfern, the Colonel left to seek out Anne.

When he found her, Anne was in the parlour reading quietly. Beside her on the table were the remains of a light supper, which it was obvious she had taken very little interest in.

"Now, Miss Anne!" declared the Colonel in shocked tones. "Can this be all the supper you have taken? Why, it would not be enough to feed a sparrow, ne'er mind a growing girl!"

Anne looked over at the plate and blushed. "I'm sorry, sir. I wasn't very hungry."

"I have a gift for you," he said, and her eyes grew wide with excitement. "But I'm not sure I should give it to a young girl who might waste away at any moment."

Anne's face took on an amusing mix of excitement and contrition, which the Colonel was powerless to resist. From behind his back he produced the small package, entreating Anne to be careful in the unwrapping.

Achingly slowly, Anne pealed away the layers of paper and stared in wonder at the small bird that stood in her hand, glowing in the evening light from the window. She turned it reverently about in her palm and inspected the bird from each angle, marvelling at its perfection before turning to thank the Colonel profusely.

"That is not all, Miss Anne. If you will allow me, I shall instruct you in your little bird's secrets."

Anne held out the bird, and the Colonel took it, turned the side which held the key towards Anne that she might see the key being removed, and then inserted said key at the base, turning it one quarter revolution no more than four times. At once, the bird began to trill its enchanting little tune and flap about in an animated fashion. Anne's eyes? grew even wider, and her mouth opened abruptly in shock at this. It was a particularly silly look, and the Colonel had to struggle not to laugh. He handed her back the bird, saying, "And now might I encourage you to take a little more supper?"

At first his words fell on deaf ears, but gradually Anne's mind returned to the room. She thanked the Colonel again for his gift and attempted to devote herself to the remains of her supper, but her eyes returned over and over to the little bird. The Colonel could not help but be pleased by her obvious love of his gift, and he sat contentedly with her until Mrs Redfern came to call for her and take her upstairs to bid her mother goodnight.

The Colonel's pocket watch revealed that it was now well past seven o'clock, and having seen that both children were fed and if not asleep, certainly soon would be, his thoughts turned to his own supper. Getting up from the private parlour, the Colonel passed through the hallway and into the public bar where he found Mr Redfern and a few of the more rustic locals – old men in farm smocks with faces weather beaten and as brown as mahogany. The men hushed on his entry, but upon recognising him as the soldier who had been about the previous night and who was known to have been escorting a family into the North Country, they resumed their chatter, leaving the Colonel to enquire about supper. It was then he discovered that Mrs Collins had asked that it be served for them both in the parlour. Mr Redfern explained that Mrs Collins felt that a day in bed had replenished her energy to a level where she might at least expect to be able to take supper with the Colonel. Mr Redfern went on to explain that if the Colonel would return to the parlour, he could expect Mrs Collins within the half hour.

Mrs Collins had spent a very restful day in the care of Mrs Redfern, who had taken every precaution to ensure her comfort, even going so far as to remonstrate with the Ostlers about their noise and bustle beneath Mrs Collin's window.

Mrs Collins had had reports of William from Dr Robertson, who said he thought that William was in a fine way to being soon mended, and Mrs Redfern had found a young playmate for Anne, ensuring that she was not lonely whilst her mother and brother were laid up. All this kindness ensured that Mrs Collins was feeling so much better than she had the previous night and had induced her to think that she might take supper with the Colonel.

Mrs Redfern hovered close-by as she descended the stairs, but Mrs Collins did not have need of her and as soon as she entered the parlour, Colonel Fitzwilliam was up and offering his arm to escort her across the room. Settling her gently in the most comfortable chair, he took up his place opposite, indicating to Redfern that supper might be served.

Up until this moment, every meal in the Red Lion had been eaten in haste or in confusion. Neither the Colonel nor Mrs Collins had been afforded the opportunity to savour Mrs Redfern's skills in the kitchen, which, it appeared, were manifold. Roast pheasant and assorted other meats gave way to a syllabub, which the Colonel swore men would fight to the death over. The meal was eaten in contented silence, but on its completion, Mrs Collin enquired about the Colonel's day. He gave her a detailed account, though he omitted to mention the perfume which was currently sat upon the dresser in his room, but his remembrance of it recalled that fourth package which even now sat in his breast pocket: the ounce of feverfew. Taking it from its hiding place, he began to explain why he had bought it: that his mother never travelled anywhere with out it, and that he hoped Mrs Collins would have no further cause to use it, but that if she did, he trusted she might find it beneficial.

Looking at Mrs Collins as he said these things, he became suddenly aware that he was rushing through his words like an embarrassed school boy. It almost made him laugh out loud, but the softness of her eyes and the warmth of her smile as she regarded him stole the laughter from his lips. Their hands briefly grazed one another in the exchange, and his breath constricted as he felt her fingers curl upwards towards his own. Her thanks for both his efforts regarding the repair the carriage and the wondrous gifts he had presented to the children made him feel flush with pride. To know that his labours were so greatly appreciated was something no man could resist.

After the table was cleared, the Colonel ushered Mrs Collins towards the sopha. He took a seat near the fire, and they began reading from the aged periodicals, occasionally one would read aloud a particularly amusing or interesting piece to the other. Eventually, Mrs Collins tired of her papers and withdrew a small volume from her reticule and began to study its pages. At least half an hour passed in silence before the Colonel looked up and realised that Mrs Collins had fallen asleep. In her hand she still held the small book. Rising, he took up the book and, thinking to mark her page, glanced at its contents: Shakespeare's sonnets, open at number one hundred and thirty, his eyes taking in the last lines, "and yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare, As any she belied with false compare." The words seemed to resound like a church bell in his mind as he regarded the sleeping form before him. He could hardly believe that not even a week before he could not have been certain of whom Mrs. Collins was, and now, stood before her, he had the sudden urge to wake her and demand to know every thought and every feeling that had ever passed through that quiet mind of hers.

Thankfully for his sanity, the Colonel resisted, and with Mrs. Redfern's assistance, he was able to carry Mrs. Collins upstairs to her room. That night, he sat alone in the darkness of his room and wondered just how Mrs. Collins had made herself so important to him in the space of five days.

_AN: J Collins & Co. genuinely are the ONLY coachbuilders I can find a record of in Oxford at this time (without visiting the Bodleian library), you can only just begin to imagine my annoyance at this!_

_The Angel Inn was knocked down to become the examination buildings for the university but part of it lives on in the Grand Café, those of you familiar with Oxford Marmalade may be interested to know that it was invented and sold from that very building by a Mrs Sarah Cooper._

_"The Broad" was/still is a nick name for Broad Street._

_"Radcliffe Square" was called "Radcliffe Street" on 19th C maps._

_The "Bakewell Black" was what we would call a "shire horse" but that name did not come into use until 1878._

_A reticule is the forerunner of the purse or handbag._

_Sorry this took longer than planned – two words – Food Poisoning._


	7. Chapter 6

My darling beta little beloved more or less wrote this chapter as I was a dribbling mess randomly bashing the keyboard!

Chapter 6

Not since she had been Charlotte Lucus had Charlotte lay in bed after eight o'clock. There had always been the children or Mr Collins to tend to, and on some days Lady de Burgh had needed her to hand very early. Mr Collins had always encouraged Lady de Burgh to feel that she could rely on the Collins' at any time of day or night; Charlotte could not quite like this, but neither could she have contradicted her husband in the matter.

Today, however, she had been greeted by Mrs Redern at seven-thirty, who had brought in a delicious cup of strong tea and a message from the Colonel – he would be breakfasting with the children in William's room and remove the 'that' she was not to bestir herself before nine at the earliest. Mrs Redfern had smiled as she delivered the message: she knew it would do Mrs Collins good to rest, but she was also pleased to see the look of surprised delight in Mrs Collins' eyes. Mrs Redfern was a shrewd arbiter of character for all her kind motherliness, and in just two days she had judged Mrs Collins and Colonel Fitzwilliam to be two excellent people who, if she were not very mistaken, were slowly coming to the same conclusion themselves. She would do nothing to aid this discovery, for she knew a widow's weaves when she saw them, but nor would she come between them.

Charlotte's head and shoulders rested on a bank of cool feather pillows, and for a moment or two she examined the shaft of light that pierced the darkness of her room, illuminating the foot of the bed, then sighing and stretching, she turned her mind to the past couple of days. The journey from Oxford to their current locale had been filled with terrors that Charlotte had never known it were possible to feel, but there had been other feelings she felt needed examining as well: her unimaginable joy at seeing Colonel Fitzwilliam when she had begun to think that no help would ever come; her relief at handing her broken little boy into the Colonel's capable hands. Charlotte was a strong woman, but the anguish and fear of that day had sorely tested her.

Trying to abide by the Colonel's orders, Charlotte took up her book of sonnets and read, but it was not long before she found herself unable to resist the temptation of the day and seeing her children. Calling on William, she found him engrossed in a game of soldiers with Mrs Redfern's daughter who had taken the part of the French and was being soundly routed by a laughing British foe.

Charlotte spent a happy hour talking with her son and his knew bosom friend, Alice: a charming, docile girl of twelve who showed all the signs of being just as good a woman as her own mother. Their time was interrupted by a visit from Dr Robertson, who declared that William was making excellent progress and, after checking the dressing above Charlotte's eye, declared that it could be removed.

Finally, at eleven o'clock, a newly unbandaged Charlotte descended the stairs into the parlour to join Anne and the Colonel. She found them there reading together, the Colonel helping Anne with the longer words in _Fabulous Histories_ and seeming to do so with all the enjoyment that she herself might feel whilst helping to forge her daughter's young mind.

Charlotte smiled warmly at the little group, and they in turn beckoned her to join them on the sopha. Anne sat between the Colonel and Mrs Collins, and she told her mother in a most authoritative voice to move closer so that she too could see the words. Charlotte edged closer and was all to aware that as she sat with one hand behind Anne, leaning over her daughter, she mirrored the Colonel's position exactly. Their hands even brushed on one occasion, causing Charlotte to withdraw her hand into her lap, resolving to concentrate entirely on the book.

After some time, Mrs Redfern broke in on this little scene of harmony and asked whether and when the party would like to take lunch. A few moments discussion produced a plan for the afternoon, which included a light lunch at twelve o'clock followed by a walk to the nearby river.

It was just as Mrs Redfern was setting the table with a selection of cold meats and some pie left over from the previous night that an enormous carriage drew into the Inn yard. The Ostlers who had been lazing in the tap room hastened out into the yard, where they began following the barked orders of the extravagantly dressed coachman.

Anne had run to the window to watch all the fuss, but the Colonel and Mrs Collins remained at the table and listened to Mrs Redfern as she ran through the menu.

"Dressed Cucumber with …"

"Sir, that parlour is taken!" cried Mr Redfern plaintively, but his words had fallen on deaf ears and the parlour door was thrust open by a tall, handsome young man of no more than thirty years. He wore a midnight blue, double breasted coat with a high collar that reached his chin, his cravat wrapped around his neck and tied in a small bow. His short dark hair, casually dressed, fell over his forehead, the living embodiment of the fashion plates that Miss De Burgh had been so fond of, Charlotte thought.

The Colonel had stood to repell the intruder, but stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw the man.

"Bless my soul! Christopher Fitzwilliam, is it you?" cried the stranger.

The Colonel did not even have time to say yes before the stranger launched into a string of new questions and statements. "This must be your lady wife! Always thought you were a man made for marriage. Just got hitch'd m'self: she's too good for me, of course. You must meet her…"

Charlotte watched all this in amazed silence, glancing wide eyed between this fascinating stranger and the Colonel, who smiled down reasuringly at her.

Eventually the man drew breath, and the Colonel made him to understand that he had got entirely the wrong end of the stick and that Mrs Collins was in his charge until he delievered her into the hands of her friends in Derbyshire and was not his wife.

The stranger was then introduced to Mrs Collins as Captain Wilbraham, lately of General Graham's staff.

The Captain bowed low over Mrs Collins' hand and his open smile charmed her entirely.

"Rafe, I thought you were coming back for me..?" came a voice from the hallway. A moment later, a fashionably dressed young woman entered the room in a dove grey dress trimmed with rose coloured ribbons. To Charlotte she was as beautiful as the young man was handsome, as light as he was dark, and she stared in wonder at the pair.

"Emily, my dear, I want to introduce you to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Remember, I told you about him: kept me out 'o many a scrape in my younger days ... In fact, I own m' life to him!"

At this, the Colonel demured modestly, but even a few moments acquaintence with the Captain was enough to make Charlotte sure of the veracity of the statement: here was a man who got into scrapes.

The young lady was introduced as the Captain's wife. Her exquisite beauty was almost doll-like, thought Charlotte, and she wore her clothes like a second skin, making Charlotte feel like a clumsy, badly dressed giant beside her.

As soon as the entire party was introduced, Mrs Redfern was entreated to provide more settings for the extra numbers, and they sat down to lunch together. Mrs Wilbraham's sweet nature shone through immediately in the way that she befriended Anne, talking to her throughout lunch and asking her many interesting questions. As the lunch went on, the Colonel and Mrs Collins were induced to relate the tale of their journey into Oxfordshire, tears filling Mrs Wilbraham's eyes as she heard Charlotte tell of the awful moments in the carriage before William began to cry. At the end of the retelling, Mrs Wilbraham and the Captain both assured Charlotte and the Colonel that they were entirely at their disposal and that they would delay their onward journey in order to provide any assistance that it might be within their power to render.

As far as the Wilbraham's were concerned, the matter was settled and they called Redfern into the parlour to secure themselves rooms. Mr Redfern was startled to find that the second party would be remaining indefinitely, but Mrs Redfern was overjoyed as it would provide her with many more opportunities to display her culinary talents, so often wasted on drunken farm hands or the elderly Squire who could only eat soft food.

On hearing that the Colonel, Mrs Collins and Miss Collins had intended to take a stroll down to the river, Captain and Mrs Wilbraham insisted on joining them. The sun shone down on the party as they set out, a few brilliant white clouds ensuring that the heat was not intollerable. Mr Redfern had instructed them on a route that would provide ample shade and take them down to the river which would mark a pleasant halfway point to rest.

Charlotte had intended to take the walk at a sedate pace, concious that her strength was not fully returned. The Captain and his wife, however, were two young people in their prime, and they sallied forth at such a speed that Charlotte was sure that even with her health fully restored she would have struggled to keep up. After ten minutes or so, Mrs Wilbraham took Anne by the hand, and they ran whooping off down the lane, reminding Charlotte of the moment at Rosings Park when Colonel Fitzwilliam had remade his acquaintence with her.

It was plain to Charlotte that Captain Wilbraham longed to join his wife careering down the lane; he was so obviously still a boy at heart for all his fashionable clothes and thirty years. However, his sense of duty and friendship kept him at Colonel Fitzwilliam's side.

After half an hour's walking at the elevated pace, Charlotte began to tire. The heat was affecting her despite the shade, but she was determined not to make a fuss. The Colonel must already be thinking her the most appalling burden, and she would not further this impression by making a fool of herself in front of his friends.

On they walked until the shade of the lane disappeared as the hedgerow gave way to a few sparse saplings and the road took an upwards turn. Though her head swam and her breath came more harshly, Charlotte persisted. The lane had not benifited from the recent downpour and all about lay stones and rocks of every nature, washed down from the fields. In order not to trip, one had to really concentrate on where one stepped, but Charlotte in her exhaustion failed to do so: mistepping, a gasp escaped from her lips as she braced herself to meet the stoney ground. Suddenly, her descent was halted, and she felt herself being lifted out of the fall by strong arms: those same hands that had held her as the doctor bandaged her head held her upright once more.

It seemed to Charlotte that time ceased altogether as the Colonel held her tightly to his chest, her cheek pressed against the fabric of his coat, the warm scent of him filling her nostrils. He stepped back, still grasping her arms and with concern-filled eyes, searching her face for any sign of distress. Charlotte smiled up at him, wanting to reassure him with that look that he had prevented her from sustaining any injury. Their eyes met for a long moment. Charlotte felt a new warmth suffuse her cheeks, her heart pounding in her chest as the Colonel's grip on her tightened on her upper arms before the Captain broke in on their silent world with, "Madam, are you hurt?"

The Captain was the sort of man who, whilst never meaning any harm to others, was entirely oblivious to their sensibilites. Such a scene as he had just burst in upon would have triggered much speculation in many a mind, but not that of Captain Wilbraham, who merely sought to ascertain the state of Mrs Collins' health.

Before Charlotte could reassure the Captain that she was quite well, Colonel Fitzwilliam said, "Captain Wilbraham, I believe that Mrs Collins overtaxed herself. May I rely on you to escort Miss Collins back to the Inn when she has finished her walk, whilst I return with Mrs Collins now?"

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he assured them, wishing Mrs Collins a speedy recovery as he ran off down the lane, leaving Colonel Fitzwilliam and Charlotte alone but for the distant sound of bird song.

"Would you like to rest a while or shall we press on?" asked the Colonel solicitously. Charlotte smiled. Her heart had barely recovered it's usual pace, but she felt able to go on, and she took the arm proffered her.

The pace of their return to the inn was significantly slower than that of their outward journey. Charlotte enjoyed the cool shade of the lanes and the quiet conversation that she shared with Colonel Fitzwilliam. He regaled Charlotte with tales of his friendship with Captain Wilbraham, with whom it appeared he shared quite a few similarities: both came from large Yorkshire famillies, both were second sons, and both had been bought their commissions at twenty-one straight after Oxford. Here their similarities seemed to end: the Colonel had been serious in his commitment to the army and his duty to England, whereas the Captain had treated the army as another jape to be enjoyed. Of course, the Colonel did not say so in so many words, but his relation of some amusing anecdotes from their time together in Cadiz led Charlotte to believe that Colonel Fitzwilliam looked upon Captain Wilbraham as the sort of younger brother that one should always be keeping one eye on, but Charlotte could also see that the Colonel in no way bregrudged the Captain his exploits and excesses.

Nearing the Inn, Charlotte and the Colonel ceased talking. It was the sort of day when the superiority of nature far exceeds the importance of anything one might have to say to a companion. Charlotte delighted in the Colonel's silence, feeling that here was a man who understood when no talking was necessary, a quality that had been sadly lacking in her late husband. Charlotte's hand still rested in the crook of the Colonel's arm, and for the briefest second, Charlotte thought that she should like it to remain there always.

This thought made Charlotte blush and turn her head away from the Colonel, lest he question the colour of her cheeks.

Later that evening, as Charlotte brushed out her hair before bed, she sat thinking over the day's events and wondering what had possessed her to turn her attention away from a lane she knew to be treacherous underfoot. It had been a warm day, and the Colonel could not have read her mind, her blush would have meant nothing to him.

However, she had turned her attention away from the stoney path, and she had once again tripped on a stone, only this time, the Colonel was unable to catch her: this time, he too had fallen. Charlotte paused in her brushing to recall the awful moment of tumbling to the ground and landing in the soft wet verge, not a moment before the Colonel had joined her. The arm which she had been holding had lain across her body, his head had rested in the crook of her neck, and her left arm had been pinned beneath him.

Slowly, the Colonel had lifted his head up, his nose brushing against Charlotte's jawline, causing a tiny gasp to escape from her. His eyes had shot to her lips before travelling upwards to meet her eyes, they seemed to convey her complete faith in him, and he felt a better man reflected there. The Colonel had held her gaze for a long moment before he raised himself up above her, his hands pressed into the bank on either side of her torso, he stooped down and gently pressed a kiss onto her forehead just above the wound.

The kiss had been so soft that Charlotte could almost imagine it had not happened, were it not for the fact that the Colonel had imediately sat bolt upright and apologised for his outragious behaviour.

The spell had been broken, and the next moment the Colonel had been stiffly helping Charlotte to stand. He had walked beside her the remainder of the way to the Inn, but he did not offer her his arm and as soon as she had been handed into Mrs Redfern's care he disappeared upstairs, saying that he had correspondance that requred his immediate attention.

Charlotte had been utterly bewildered by the Colonel's behaviour. Had he allowed her to speak, she might have found some way to show him that she had not been offended by his actions, but the hasty walk to the Inn and her delivery into Mrs Redfern's capable hands had not afforded her the time to think of suitable words.

Not long after Charlotte's return to the Inn, the Wilbraham's and Anne had returned. Mrs Wilbraham had heard much of William from Anne on their walk and had begged to be introduced to him. Charlotte had done this, though her mind had been consummed with other matters and this had been how she had spent the remainder of the afternoon: watching her son and daughter entertain the young wife of the Colonel's friend.

The Colonel had reappeared at supper time, where he proceeded to talk almost exclusively to Captain Wilbraham and Anne, leaving Charlotte, whose eye he could not meet, to entertain Mrs Wilbraham.

Charlotte put down the hairbrush and gazed into the looking glass. Taking up a length of ribbon, she proceeded to tie back her hair. When she was done, she paused and, staring at the red gash across her forehead, touched her forefinger to the exact spot where the Colonel had kissed her. She smiled.

Colonel Fitzwilliam paced his room like a caged beast long after the entire party had withdrawn for the evening. What on earth could have possessed him to have done such a thing to Mrs Collins? A woman whom he respected so highly; a woman who had entrusted him with her life and that of her familly. He was entirely disgusted with himself, and yet he could not forget the look in her eye before he had kissed her, nor the softness of her skin beneath his lips. He ached to feel that softness once again.

Savagely, he tore his thoughts away from Mrs Collins' skin and resolved to journey to Oxford the next day to see how the Coachbuilder was progressing. A little distance between himself and Mrs Collins was what he needed.

_AN: At this time when one entered the army it was possible to buy one's rank, I don't imagine that Colonel Fitzwilliam's family would have bought him his Colonel status, he would probably have gone in a few ranks below and worked his way up but it was entirely possible to do so._

_Apologies for the delay, real life blah blah. Feel free to leave me a review… was it ghastly?_


	8. Chapter 7

Thanks as always go to my wonderful Beta little_beloved who make sense of my rambling. Huge apologies for the delay - it was so long I couldn't remember how to upload stories! Anyhoo on with the story...

The colonel had slept but fitfully, and he greeted the dawn with a sigh of relief: At last he could rise and find some activity that might occupy his mind and drag his thoughts from the woman sleeping just three rooms away.

He had resolved the previous night to journey into Oxford to visit the coachbuilders: civility demanded that he extend an invitation to Captain Wilbraham to join him, but he knew Rafe would remain in bed for some hours to come before greeting the day, and by that time the Colonel knew his mind might have deserted him entirely. Civility be damned, he thought as he dressed, pulling on his riding boots and tying his neck cloth.

Entering the tap room, he found a sleeping groom and drowsy-looking maid cleaning up after the previous night's patrons. Rousing the groom, he ordered Scheherazade be made ready as quickly as possible. From the maid he extracted a light breakfast of bread and cheese which he ate hastily, and as he ate he dashed off two notes: one to Mrs Collins, and one to Captain Wilbraham, both explaining his destination and apologising for missing them. He could almost laugh at himself; he was acting as though the very devil was snapping at his heals.

Scheherazade, it appeared, had been reluctantly roused from a wonderful dream, for that alone must explain the tremendous bad mood she was in as they set off for Oxford. She had actually nipped at him as the groom handed over her reins, and she was rolling her eyes furiously as they left the yard. The Colonel was not about to apologise to his horse; he felt his sanity was in an already questionable state today without talking to animals, but he certainly felt contrite and promised himself that he would treat her once they reached Oxford.

As always when one's mind is occupied, the journey to Oxford passed in a blur, and the Colonel was in no time at the gate of Collins' yard. Here he enquired about the carriage and discovered that it would not be ready until Monday at the earliest. Having ascertained this, the Colonel was reluctant to return quite so early to the Red Lion, as it was not quite ten o'clock, and so he fixed upon an idea to visit his former tutor: Professor Romer-Lee.

Strolling down the High from the coachbuilder's yard, the Colonel turned on to Rose Lane and approached the imposing new building which was now the residence of his former professor. A quick inquiry at the porter's lodge of Corpus Christi had revealed that the professor had retrenched to this house upon the invitation of his great friend Dr George Williams who, as the Sherardian Professor of Botany, lived in the house opposite the botanical gardens in order to fulfil his duties as its steward.

A footman answered and invited the Colonel into the hall to wait upon the professor. It was mere moments before he heard the familiar voice give out a shout of delight and saw the now elderly man come tottering into the hallway, waving a handful of papers at him, followed by the bemused footman.

"Fitzwilliam m'boy, what a delight to see you. Come in, come in, none of this standing in the hall, dear boy. Come in!"

The Colonel stepped forward and shook the professor's hand firmly and then followed him into what he assumed was the professor's study. It was a dark room, filled past the point of reason with books and papers which teetered on every ledge and surface. Only the fireplace and two large high chairs seemed to be free of books.

"Sit, sit," the professor said, pointing to one of the chairs. "Welcome to my nest." At this, the Colonel smiled and sat down.

"How about some tea? It's not every day I get such a distinguished visitor, and that old dragon in the kitchen will just have to exceed to my demands!" Turning to the door, he shouted for the footman, who appeared momentarily and took the order for tea before disappearing once more.

At last the professor sat down, still clutching his papers which he lay haphazardly on the already over laden side table.

"How are you, sir?" asked the Colonel.

"Well, dear boy, very well. George has set me up in fine style and seems to tolerate all of this." His hands waved about the room. Again, the Colonel smiled.

"I've been following your progress and that of your brother with great interest these past…ten years, is it? Of course, I find the dispatches from the front harder to discern than the Court Circular, but I manage."

And so, the two launched into two hours of friendly reminiscence, accompanied by tea and cake from the unseen dragon in the kitchen. At last, when all avenues of conversation seemed exhausted, the Colonel asked the professor, "Sir, do you regret that you never married?"

The professor looked at him and then turned to the empty grate in the fire and paused. "What my life has lacked is someone to share the silences with… Oxford is only too full of people happy to let you hear themselves talk, but someone to sit in comfortable silence with at the end of the day… that is what I would have liked."

"Indeed, sir, that would be a wonderful thing."

The Colonel thanked the professor for his company and took his leave.

The return journey to the inn was spent mulling over the professor's words: He couldn't help thinking of the previous evening's silent walk, recalling how utterly content he had felt in Mrs Collins' company and how, despite their renewed acquaintance having only been of a short duration, he could not recall anyone else who made him feel so entirely happy.

There had been flirtations in his youth: for a time he had thought Caroline Bingley to be the star in his firmament, but her introduction to Darcy at a ball had seen him overthrown in her affections so suddenly and wholly that the Colonel resolved to be done with love and womankind in general for the all together more comprehensible business of war and soldiering.

The Colonel could not dwell on the subject of Mrs. Collins for long without seeing how ill he had behaved towards her the previous evening in never speaking a word and in running away at dawn. He deserved to be striped of his rank for such cowardly behaviour. Realizing this, he resolved to seek her out upon his return for a private audience.

Entering the inn, the Colonel found Mrs. Collins, Anne, the Wilbrahams and, to his delight, William all sat in the parlour playing games together. Dr Robertson had paid his daily visit and had allowed William to leave his sick chamber for one hour as a reward for enduring his confinement so well. The Colonel was immediately drawn to William's side and joined in the game, though his attention lay elsewhere.

Charlotte peeped up through her lashes at the Colonel, searching his face for some explanation of what had been going on. Their eyes met, and despite the furore going on about them, the Colonel saw only too plainly the hurt and confusion in Mrs. Collins' eyes, causing his heart to constrict agonisingly. Without ever saying a word, the Colonel knows that Mrs. Collins believed that it was she who has caused some offence, and for the first time in his life, the Colonel wishes his friend Captain Wilbraham and his wife anywhere but Oxfordshire.

Mrs. Collins broke away from the Colonel's eyes, sensing that an explanation would be forthcoming when the Colonel was able, and glancing at the clock above the mantelpiece, spied that William had had his hour and more.

"William, my dear, I am afraid that it is time to return to your bed chamber. You have had your hour, and unless you want us both to be told off by Dr Robertson tomorrow, you had best do as I say.

Naturally, William tried to bargain for "just another quarter hour", using every weapon in his arsenal, but begging and sweet looks were useless in this case. Mrs. Collins was intractable on the matter, saying that if she disobeyed the doctor's orders he might very well confine them both to their rooms with no visitors for a week, and then how should they like that?

The Colonel rose, offering to carry William to his room, but to his surprise, William exclaimed loudly that "No", he wanted "Captain and Mrs. Captain" to be the ones to carry him upstairs.

Charlotte knew immediately that this did not mark the overthrowing of the "Curhole" in William's affections: Charlotte suspected it would take Wellington himself to do that, but rather that like all children, William had easily marked out the most soft-hearted of grown ups whom he might bend to his will and persuade to remain in his chamber to play with him. The Captain and Mrs. Wilbraham were delighted to have such an honour conferred upon them, and turned to Charlotte for permission, which she smilingly gave. Standing to go with them, she was immediately arrested by William's cry of ,"No, Mummy, just the Captains!" All Charlotte's suspicions were confirmed in this sentence, but as it was not bedtime, she acceded to his wish.

The Captain gently lifted William from the sopha, scooping up the blankets as wel,l and led his wife, who in turn led Anne (her now constant companion) from the room, leaving Charlotte and the Colonel quite suddenly alone.

Charlotte looked down at her lap, twisting the black muslin of her dress in her hands, desperately searching the corners of her mind for some topic of conversation that might bring an end to the awkward silence that pervaded the room. She was just formulating a question about the carriage, when the Colonel coughed quietly, and as Mrs. Collins looked up, said,

"Mrs. Collins, I must apologized for my behaviour both yesterday afternoon and since. I have been so unutterably rude to you, and you have born it without complaint." Here he paused so briefly that Mrs Collins was unable to interrupt before he continued, "I treated you as though you had committed some heinous crime, when, of course, we both know it was I who… who..." Here the Colonel faltered and was unable to go on, his eyes blazing, his cheeks tinged with red. He cast his head down.

Charlotte watched him for a minute as she gathered her wits.

"Sir… Colonel Fitzwilliam..."

His eyes, now sadly dull, lifted slowly.

"Your… Your behaviour yesterday afternoon has been entirely forgiven, and if you will promise that we are still friends, I can in turn promise to forgive everything else for which you seek absolution." Charlotte could feel herself blush as she finished.

The change in the Colonel's face was instantaneous: His eyes shone once again with life and something else that Charlotte could not name, but that made her heart beat all the faster. The Colonel gave Charlotte all the reassurance in his power that they remained friends, and at once began to tell her all the news about the carriage and his visit to his old professor, leaving out just one small detail of their conversation.

The Colonel's heart seemed to have taken flight with Mrs Collin's words, and though they conversed animatedly for at least a half hour before they were interrupted by Anne Collins looking for her doll, had his life depended on it, the Colonel could not have recalled a single word that was spoken. All that his mind could conceive was that she had forgiven him

Dinner that evening was a delightful affair. Mrs Redfern had excelled herself, and the conversation, though perhaps not conducted between the finest minds in the kingdom, was so pleasurable that everyone in the party considered themselves fortunate to have enjoyed such a night.

Retiring afterward with a glass of brandy to his room, the Colonel considered his fellow diners as he sipped and changed for bed.

Captain Wilbraham was still the incorrigible boy he had met all those years ago, neither war nor marriage could dull his impish spirit, and the Colonel sincerely hoped that the Captain never met with the circumstances which could.

Mrs Wilbraham was a beautiful girl. Her kind heart could not be hidden behind any number of fashionable dresses or fripperies, and the Colonel was delighted that his friend had married such a woman. Watching the two of them play together with William and Anne this afternoon had made a charming diversion from his own cares. He could tell from their delighted expressions as they took William and Anne upstairs that they pictured themselves as parents one day soon. What fond and doting parents they would make.

Finally, his mind turned to Charlotte, "saving the best 'til last", cried an errant voice from some dark corner of his mind. In attempting to quell the thought, he had not noticed his use of her forename.

"Charlotte has forgiven me," he whispered in the darkness. He had hardly been able to keep his eyes from her all evening. The smiles she gave so freely to her children, the Wilbrahams and even Mrs Redfern, paled in comparison to those she had turned on him. The Colonel had found himself entranced by her lips; the soft full bottom lip parted company with it's thinner mate, revealing the merest sliver of the teeth behind as she listened rapt with attention to her dinner companions. When the conversation delighted her, those same lips pulled back in the fullest grin, and it was this smile that she chose to bestow upon him, always seeking out his eyes when truly amused. How his heart had filled each time, and how he longed to spend the rest of his life in company with that smile.

Laying in the comforting darkness of his room, he placed his right hand upon his chest and stared unseeingly into the night. It was plain to him now that his heart was disobeying orders and was falling hopelessly in love with a woman whom he had dismissed as plain not a week ago.

What was to be done?

_AN: I had wanted Professor Romer – Lee to be a tutor at Corpus Christi, because that is where one of my uncles is a professor, but I also wanted him to live near the botanical gardens. Imagine my delight in discovering that the house on Rose lane was given to Corpus Christi in the early 19__th__ Century, and was used by the Botany fellow Dr George Williams. I know the detail means nothing to the plot, but it amuses me._

_Apologies for the unbelievably long wait between chapters. Must do better._


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